


another tragedy

by mysterytwin



Category: Trollhunters (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, Changeling!Jim, For the Glory of Fandom, Gen, Jim Has Anxiety, Sort of anyway, oh yeah, that's it I think, this entails jim & toby bonding what more could you possibly want, this is also my entry to the fic writing contest so there's that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-08 22:26:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13467861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysterytwin/pseuds/mysterytwin
Summary: “I don’t want to lose you,” and it’s the most raw and open thing he’s ever said. It has him feeling vulnerable and exposed all over, his heart stumbling to find the right words after being kept hidden for so long. He’s always been open with Toby, they’re the dynamic duo, but something about this feels like stepping into the fog of the unknown. “You’re my best friend.”





	another tragedy

It’s tricky how the world never seems to stop changing even after you’re left with nothing but a need of something constant. Something grounded. Something permanent.

The world has changed without him, keeps on spinning, but Jim wonders how much of his life he’s truly living. Sometimes he just wishes everything would stop. It’s always problem after problem, day after day, battle after battle—a cycle without rest, bleeding exhaustion into the air he breathes. He wants a break, a pause, a reset button. He never seems to be given one.

When he emerges from the bridge, he comes to find everything is different from the Darklands. It turns out, two weeks are enough to forget the taste of the sun. Two weeks are enough to erase sweet memories and replace them with bitter nightmares, enough to let him remember only what he’s fighting against, not what he’s battling for. It’s enough to change the world when you’re too busy trying to stay alive.

A part of him just wants to forget.

 

* * *

 

“Are you okay?”

There’s a pause, a slight shift in the air, beats drumming through the wall. The moon shines down through the window, providing light against the shadows dwelling in the dark. They seem to be growing these days, following him around, watching his every move. Where light meets dark, there’s a lull, a gap in between, some hidden force lurking beneath. And for a moment, Jim isn’t sure of what to say.

He knows Toby is on the other side of the street, that the only thing connecting them right now is static from a walkie-talkie, that there are more spaces between them now than ever before. That there’s something breaking—something maybe already broken. But it feels like his best friend is right next to him, his voice echoing past the static and bouncing off the walls even louder than the whispers and shouts in Jim’s head.

He seems so far away. Has he always been this distant?

“No,” he answers, and it’s honest. It is what it is: the plain, cold, hard truth. “No, I’m not. I don’t think I am.”

If Toby’s surprised, he doesn’t really show it. Jim can only make out his figure through the shadows, his curtain drawn to hide him away. It doesn’t tell him much.

“What’s—what’s wrong?”

Jim shakes his head, even though he know Toby can’t see him. He breathes slowly, in and out, one, two, three. It’s shaky when he replies, “I don’t know. Everything? I’m sorry, Tobes, for what I did. I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, hey, no, don’t be like that,” Toby says calmly, soft and safe and real. “We’re cool now, remember? We’re awesome sauce. It—none of that matters now.”

And he remembers that, all of it happened just this evening. His outburst, his confession—he hadn’t meant it to be like that. He didn’t know that’s how all of them felt, either: betrayed and angry.

“I know,” but he doesn’t. Not really. He doesn’t understand how they can forgive him so easily. He still doesn’t forgive _himself._ He let them down, he risked all of their lives during the fight against Angor Rot. How could they possibly be okay with that? “I just—I’m sorry. You guys don’t deserve any of this. You deserve so much more than this mess. You—you deserve a better hero.”

What kind of _hero_ is he? He puts his friends’ lives in danger constantly, he risked setting Gunmar free (and if anything that white goblin said tonight was true, then Gunmar might actually be in Arcadia all because of _him_ ), and he keeps screwing up. The older Trollhunters clearly don’t approve of him, either. He’s _selfish_ —the exact opposite of what a hero should be.

The amulet should’ve chosen someone else—someone stronger, faster, smarter. Someone braver. Someone more selfless than he could ever possibly be, someone who could juggle the two worlds on their shoulders just fine. Someone who isn’t him, someone who isn’t cracking under the pressure to reveal scars that run too deep. Someone _better._

There are hundreds of people in Arcadia—and so much more around the whole world. The burden could’ve been anyone else’s, could’ve been lighter on another person’s back. The weight is pulling him down, bringing him deep, and sometimes, it feels easier to just let himself be swallowed. He’s weak, he can’t do this—he can’t breathe.

“It’s all my fault.”

Maybe if he had never gotten the amulet, maybe if they had never taken that stupid shortcut, none of this would have ever happened. They would still be okay. He wouldn’t be afraid to sleep at night because of a threat of a nightmare is always nearby. He wouldn’t have to be so exhausted all the time. He wouldn’t have to try to hide the scars and bruises on his skin. He wouldn’t have to deal with any of this.

And Toby wouldn’t have to, either.

This war is millenia older than him. How is he supposed to fight against that?

“Jim, no, it’s not like that. It’s not your fault, you did what you thought was best—”

“But that’s exactly the thing about this, Tobes! I _wasn’t_ thinking! I knew I wouldn’t be able to survive without you guys, but I did it anyway. If I hadn’t chosen to go into the Darklands alone, none of this would’ve happened. Gunmar might be in Arcadia after all these centuries, and it’s all because of _my_ screw-up. I’ve unleashed _hell_ into our world, Tobes—how can you say it’s not my fault?”

Both of them stay quiet. There are more cracks now, opening wider until the space between them is unbearable. He knows all of this started because of his stupid decision, he knows that they’re starting to break because of his mistake. He wants to fix it, because this is _Toby_ they’re talking about, and he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do without him.

“I’m sorry.” He’s only started to realize that he’s crying. “I—I’m so sorry, Tobes.”

“Hey, no, it’s okay,” Toby says comfortingly. “I know you think it’s your fault, and I’m not going to lie and tell you that it isn’t anymore. Because it is. This is your mistake, your screw-up.”

“Thanks, Tobes.”

“I’m not done,” he says. “So this _may_ be all your fault. But do you know what the best part of making mistakes is? You get to go fix them. You get to clean up your mess and start from the beginning. Who cares if you’ve tripped over your feet once or twice? Who cares if you’ve been making crappy decisions? Who cares if you’re not the ideal hero? No one’s perfect, Jimbo. What matters in the end is that you fix it when you’re done, when you’ve learned the difference between right and wrong. And that’s exactly what you’ve got to do now. So you went in the Darklands and Gunmar might be free—what are you going to do about it?”

Jim mulls it over, bringing his knees to his chest. He stares at the walkie-talkie in his hands. He doesn’t even realize they were shaking until now. Toby’s advice had given him hope, but it’s still all too much. A moment, and all he can see is red and black clashed together; he’s pinned against the blade and the ground, and Gunmar is _winning._ “I can’t do it, Tobes. I can’t defeat him.”

“Well, _duh_ ,” Toby pauses. “Obviously you can’t do it alone. I thought we established this already. Trollhunters is plural, meaning _all_ of us. Do you really think we’re going to let you fight without backup? Not again, buddy.”

“But what if he—” his voice cracks, but it feels like it’s more than his voice that’s breaking, “what if he hurts you guys, too? He’ll stop at nothing to get what he wants.”

“We’re going to fight back,” he says with determination. After a beat, softly, he adds, “We have to.”

He almost sounds as desperate as Jim feels, trying to reach for something that’s just too far away. It scares him to think of what could happen if everything went wrong, if they lose this battle. An echo of a nightmare beats down on him, a fading imagination with too many fires and loud screams. That’s what could happen if they don’t plan their moves right. They can’t risk it.

“And if we don’t win?”

“That’s not an option, Jimbo, and you know it.”

“Okay,” he sighs. “I just hope you’re right.”

It always feels like his time is running out, in a way. What it’s counting down to, he’s never sure, but there’s something on the edge. Something waiting to happen.

Jim wonders if Toby feels that, too.

He lets out a shaky breath and clutches the walkie-talkie a bit tighter. He’s searching for same air that’s been suffocating him, and his lungs feel like collapsing. He never asked to be the Trollhunter, never wanted to be the center of both worlds. He only wanted adventure, something more, but never this. He never wished to be the protector of lives and the downfall of others. He just wanted answers, wanted something exciting. He never wanted to be another story without an epilogue.

He doesn’t want to become another tragedy.

“I don’t want to lose you,” and it’s the most raw and open thing he’s ever said. It has him feeling vulnerable and exposed all over, his heart stumbling to find the right words after being kept hidden for so long. He’s always been open with Toby, they’re the dynamic duo, but something about this feels like stepping into the fog of the unknown. “You’re my best friend.”

“You don’t think I’m scared, too?” Toby whispers, but it’s loud against the silent wind, the quiet drumming, the noiseless quickening pulse of his heart. “I’m terrified, Jim. When you were gone in the Darklands—I didn’t know what to do. Claire helped me out. A lot. If it weren’t for her, I probably wouldn’t have made it two days. You’re my best friend, too, Jim, and if we’re going to beat this, we need to have each other’s backs. All of us.”

It’s softer, but Jim still catches it. “Like we used to.”

“I—” he tries to say, but his voice catches in his throat. “Okay. Yeah. That—that sounds good.”

There’s a silence between them for a moment, and Jim exhales, wanting to fill up the space. He wants to fill it with words, actions, heartbeats—anything he can find. Anything that doesn’t leave it empty.

“I’m sorry. For all of this. If I had known what we were getting into, I would have never brought you into this.” He remembers the first night clearly: showing him the amulet after a long day at the dentist and wearing the armor. He remembers his panic attacks and Toby being there to calm him down. He remembers fighting alongside him, saving each another’s lives. He remembers always being there for each other. If there’s no way to go back to the past and change it, then the best thing he can do is not regret it. Heck, he wouldn’t have gotten through most of this if it weren’t for Toby.

He pulls up the curtain to see Toby looking right back at him with a small wave. “But—thanks, Tobes. Thank you for everything. Even—even after all of this, I’m glad you’re still here. That you’re still my friend.”

“Jim, I don’t think there could ever be a universe where I say no to all of this,” Toby says, “to you.”

And for the first time that night, Jim smiles, soft and even just a little bit hopeful. The moon shines a little brighter.

“Okay,” he says. “Good night, Tobes.”

“Good night, Jimbo.”

The curtain gets drawn and the light turns off in his room, but the shadows dance a little farther from him this time around.

 

* * *

 

It hurts how much he’s missed all of this. Sitting here, surrounded by his friends at detention, it doesn’t seem all that bad. He’s laughing and smiling and feels warmer than ever before. It feels good, relieving, like he can breathe again. He wouldn’t trade it for the world, not for any happy ending anyone could offer. It’s moments like these, the shaking shoulders, the cheeky grins, the flushed cheeks, the looks on everyone’s faces, the laughter—it makes all of this worthwhile.

 

* * *

 

“Out there, they need a Trollhunter,” he says, and somehow, his chest feels a little bit lighter. “And a Trollhunter fights until the end.”

Amulet or not, he’s the Trollhunter. He may not be perfect, may not be the best, but this is who he is. Bruised and scarred and exhausted, this is who Jim Lake is—who he chooses to be.

It’s about time he made the right choice.

 

* * *

 

Even when he’s out of the Darklands, the nightmares still seem to chase after him.

Jim’s always had his fair share of both dreams and nightmares, and the tricky part of it all, he comes to learn, is that you need to figure out the right moment to wake up. If you sleep long enough trying to hold on to the sweetness of a honey-tasting dream, it’ll become a bitter nightmare in a matter of seconds. Wake up before the storm, come back during the eye of the hurricane. Leave when lightning strikes, but don’t be afraid to let the raindrops fall on you. Keep the door open to let the light enter, just make sure you’re not letting in a stranger.

But it’s different now, and no matter how many times he tries, he can’t seem to open his eyes when he wants to. The nightmares play their melody, thunder through his heart with songs that drown hope. There’s no point, not when everything seems to be spinning and the walls are covered in blood. Things are off-center, off-angle, not quite meeting with the rest. Light hits prisms but it never makes it to the other side. He meets with faces he has never seen, talks to voices he doesn’t recognize, feels things he wants to forget.

The nightmares seem to come even with the slightest dozing off, sometimes even when he’s still awake, still conscious. Things materialize before him, stories unfold to reveal tragedies, and the shadows catch up to him until he’s left jolting awake with a pounding heart.

When the world stands still around him, he almost forgets that it’s only just a dream.

Funny, it doesn’t feel like it.

And maybe it isn’t, not really, even when he’s below the earth, below Troll Market, stuck in the Deep. Maybe this isn’t a dream anymore, not even a nightmare. Maybe it’s all real.

The creature is standing in front of him now, fully unmasked by the shadows. It’s red all over, bearing the same armor Jim himself used to wear, gripping the sword the same way he would. But there are horns, there are marks, there are lines on its face, and it can’t possibly be him.

He can’t remember who strikes the first move, but the next thing he knows is that they’re circling each other, hovering mid-step. The creature lunges forward, knocks Jim’s sword out of his hand, watching as it skids to the side. It has Jim pinned on the ground now, the red light of the word illuminating exactly what he doesn’t want to see.

Himself.

“Tell me, James,” it says, and it’s raspy and rough all around the edges; but it sounds just like him, too, almost the same—almost _human._ “What kind of hero are you?”

Another thing Jim has learned is that heroes aren’t always who they’re made out to be, and villains aren’t always completely evil. He wonders if that says anything about him.

He left his friends, unleashed Gunmar, and now all of Troll Market is going to be destroyed. He’s going to die and he won’t be able to protect his friends. He won’t be able to save anyone. It’s all his fault.

Maybe the real enemy was himself all along.

“You fear this, you fear becoming me, but let me tell you one thing,” it says, too close, and Jim feels like suffocating even when his heart is pounding and his lungs are expanding, “it’s already begun.”

“What—” he chokes out, and he desperately wants to ask what that means, but the words aren’t coming out right.

“You and I are part of the same coin,” it continues on, “we are the same person.”

And if that means what Jim thinks it means, then— _no_. It couldn’t possibly be. He can’t be—he can’t be a _changeling._ But there it is, that _creature,_ right ahead of him, showing him what he could be. What he is.

If it’s true what they say, if this isn’t just a dream—a nightmare—if you really do become your greatest fear, then it almost feels like the air’s been knocked out of his lungs. Skin tight and chest heavy, he doesn’t want to believe any of this.

It’s not true. It _can’t_ be true.

“History doesn’t repeat itself,” the creature says, slowly getting up and releasing the sword from Jim’s neck—it’s starting to turn into dust now, disappearing into the air before him, “but it often rhymes.”

 

* * *

 

When Strickler and Nomura show up at his house that night, Jim knows better than to be afraid.   


**Author's Note:**

> hmu at superishs.tumblr.com!!


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